Inside Out
by TangledUpLies
Summary: Behind two seconds is an unforgettable moment for them.


Hello! A quick but such an appreciated thank you to the awesome readers who reviewed and added _Third Bar _to their favorite lists! It was great to see that y'all like my spin of it before it had aired. To my one lovely reviewer emilydoyle who asked; yes, the title had been inspired by Snow Patrol because that song had been one of the few songs I couldn't stop listening to when I wrote the story. It fits so nicely with them, especially in their situation I had set up for them.

And since we have all seen "Lauren," let me just say how much more I fell in love with Emily Prentiss/Paget Brewster. I've shamelessly seen the episode too many times and each time the hearts in my eyes for her just increase. I'm going to ramble on for a moment about it, so read or skip if you choose. The episode had holes and certain parts could have been better explained. For example; how suddenly angry and annoying Morgan understood why Emily did what she did for Declan? Seriously, that man from the start had me so frustrated I wanted to reach through the screen to give him a slap of reality. His whole attitude about Emily sleeping with Doyle was nonsense. While everyone was focused on finding her, he was still complaining about how she slept with him for information. It was her job, so I have no clue what was happening in his head. The way Seaver is continued to be written proves to me the writers don't know what to do with her at all. Her handling Fahey because she dated narcissists in the past and Rossi forcing her ~think to why Doyle would kill, made me shake my head from embarrassment. They could have really had Strauss, her mother, Will and Kevin for the funeral. Somewhat minor characters, but they are still very important to the scene. Even if Strauss and her mother were on vacation, I would not have doubt both of them would have came directly back home after hearing what happened. And if they had known she faked her death, they should have been there, all to make everything look as real as possible. Watching Emily getting tortured, my eyes and my ears were scarred I was actually screaming and crying along with her when she got branded (though that mark and the scar from that stake into her stomach like a vampire makes a perfect story to write about between Hotch and Emily in the future, lol). I will forever believe Hotch and Emily belong together. Legit belong together even if Paget does not return, but I really liked her with Doyle. Unpopular opinion I'm sure with most shippers, but I believe she fell in love with him too after a while, and not just with his son, who she was so freaking adorable with. I love Mommy!Emily. Anyway, Emily and Doyle were too sweet in the car and I love the kiss. No lie, but everything about that scene was awesome to me. And finally, the missing closure scene between Hotch and Emily was so absolutely unacceptable. Seriously, writers, what are you doing to us _and_ them? The entire fandom has been left so high and dry, which I shouldn't be surprised. I really had thought they would have their scene last because like I've mentioned before, she had a scene with everyone that had been important to her life. He was too, so I don't know what was running through the writer's head.

However through all that, we did manage to have some things between them even without a scene together because with them, it always seems to be about major subtext. Hotch's tears when he was talking to Clyde about saving her and the final funeral scene of him just lingering longer than everyone else over her coffin were extremely heart wrenching. And during my second viewing after the initial airing, I was honestly commenting every two minutes about everything and had come up with two things. The first one had been Hotch checking on Emily privately in the hospital. After the learning of Emily's death and then proceeding to the funeral, a moment in between he had gone to see her. Sigh. It would be a semi closure scene between the two since the writers did nothing for us (I'm secretly hoping it'll be a deleted scene on the DVD, lol). The other had been how Emily got hold of Hotch's photo ID. In the matter of seconds that was seriously cuteness overload seeing his smiling face on her phone when he called (and I loved the fact the _he_ was the one to do so when they figured she was on Doyle's list; subtext again). Then the idea of how she got it totally zoomed into my head instantly and I had to write about the latter first. So here! I'm still working on the former, and I have no idea when/if that would be up. And these scenes I had wanted to add it too something longer and something that would have been mostly through Hotch's perspective during the scene by scene in "Lauren." But I'm still mapping all of that, and don't know if I will actually get so far to even write it out, that I decided to just post this separately. I am guilty of all mistakes, so if you find any, sorry. Make note that tenses change like my previous story. I wish everyone a happy reading and please remember to review when you finish. Comments and everything else in between are truly appreciated by authors. Thank you! =D

This is getting really long, but last thought I swear. After watching the latest episode, seeing Paget horribly photoshopped out of the credits and not at all… hurts. So. Darn. Much. Everything felt so odd and empty without her. Even if it has only been one episode, it's enough to show just how crucial Emily/Paget is to make the show good. The writing has been suffering. The storylines have been bad. The character screen time has been divided up horribly (Hotch is such a wallflower lately, ugh and when Emily was still on, her lines were so weak and redundant). This show needs lots of fixing, but at least I still got to see Paget. But now with the combination of all the bad stuff along with not seeing her at all, it's just sinking into quicksand so fast. And I would really hate the writers even more if they don't have enough decency to continue talking about her. They did so in the beginning for three minutes with her pretty picture hanging on the wall and for 6.20, I have a small idea what could be happening from the episode summary. The team needs to mourn and my shipper heart would love to see Hotch talking about her death since he knows it's all faked. He's bottling and that just makes it so much better when/if he talks to someone. Hopefully they can manage to squeeze in more subtext about how close they really were that no one else knew about. And I'm done.

* * *

><p>It's the third Saturday of December.<p>

The outside temperature is just thirty two. The star center of the solar system is high, bright and beaming onto the crevices of the earth. The light dusting of white powder is stuck onto the sidewalks and cars. The strong winds hit against the windows.

And when it has been nearly three hours after that morning sun has risen above the horizon, in the heated apartment on the first floor with the winds seeping through the slightly frozen glass every now and then; Aaron Hotchner begins to stir.

With the thick comforter covering and keeping warm most of his curled body because that had been how he has slept for the last five hours, he makes an attempt to pull the body that had been with him for the night closer. But he only finds himself tugging in nothing but air. His eyes open slowly, the sunlight teasing his sight and the nook and crannies of his bedroom. Turning his head to squint at the red digital numbers on his nightstand, he notes that it's two minutes before nine. His hand moves to the empty space beside him, still somewhat warm under the touch. The indentation of a head remains slightly apparent in the pillow next to his and the white bed sheet is crinkled nevertheless from the thin form.

She cannot have been gone too long.

His eyes bat rapidly and rolling onto his back as the covers fall four inches lower on his naked body, Hotch draws in a deep steady breath. And that's when he hears it, her muffled words from somewhere in his apartment. He stares at the entrance to his room. She must be on the phone he concludes while he runs a hand over his face. He makes no attempt though to get up and out of bed though to find who she speaks with. And for a while, he lays on his back with his eyes closed once again as he feels sleep wanting to overtake his body. But when he finds himself gradually falling into that slumber again, those muffled words from before become a little louder into his ears and makes his eyelids peel back up. A mere moment, outside his door, he listens to her light chuckles before a farewell.

And in a blink an eye, his gaze is settled on Emily Prentiss appearing at the doorway of his bedroom.

She is greeted by his curious face and semi sleepy and tired stare. He on the other hand is greeted _and _delighted by her relaxed and bright face with her excited eyes and the natural sight of her he only gets to see. Donning his worn starched white dress shirt that she had removed rather too quickly from his body last night three sizes too large for her held together by a single little white button over her thin and tall frame showing off her mile long naked legs with the sleeves folded up twice and her raven hair a bit messy, Hotch finds this image of her among one of his many favorites.

"Morning!"

Her voice is too awake and perhaps even chirpy given the little sleep they had had.

He watches as she maneuvers through the mess they had created on the floor. Their jackets, his black suit pants, her black skirt, his shoes, her black heels with the scarlet soles, her Venetian red blouse, his boxer briefs and her dark violet satin push up bra scattering his sandy colored carpet, each footstep is nearly tiptoed. And in her fifth step as she lifts up her right hand to tuck some loose hair strands behind her hair, he is offered the briefest peak of the tiny piece of dark violet material that he had peeled off her very eagerly when she had fallen down into his bed

She makes her way to his bed and to him and parks herself gingerly down beside him. Left hand clutching her phone, her right hand is placed on his strong and lean chest just above his heart. He makes no delay to cover hers with his own.

"Is everything okay?"

The huskiness of his tone sends the chill crawling up her spine. Emily leans down, brushing his lips with hers before smiling faintly. "Yeah… it was just JJ. I'm meeting her and Garcia for lunch today." She scoots closer to him.

Hotch nods against the pillow. "So you're leaving now?" He pretends to be playfully dejected at the prospect, even if in all honesty he will be if she does so now.

But all Emily can do is giggle a little, the noise high and sweet flowing through his ears and into his brain. "I should… and besides, you have to pick up Jack soon and I have to go home to Sergio." The smile on her face widens a touch. "I miss him."

He brings his arms to envelop around her slender shoulders and breathes in intensely, the scent of vanilla and blossoms from her body wash ascending up his nostrils. "In an hour or so…" he reasons calmly before his words turn gentle. "And Jack does too… he has been waiting to see him again…"

Just after three meetings with the black feline Emily had brought home just five weeks ago, his son has grown too fond of him as well as the idea of getting his own cat so Sergio would have someone else to play with. And when Jack had encircled his short arms around Hotch's neck, bestowing kisses on his father's cheek happily two days prior with a hope that he will give in like so many other times because that combination worked more often than it should, he had merely smiled at his son and ran his hand down the his tiny back.

"I'm sorry, buddy…" The excitement in his small face had died immediately upon that answer. Nevertheless though, he had continued giving his son a smile. "You know what though; I think Sergio is doing just fine having you to play with for right now."

Jack had let out a defeated sigh while Hotch had held in the laugh forming in him at his little boy's reaction. "You think Sergio can come again?"

Smoothing over the top of Jack's blonde hair, he had answered positively. "I'm more than sure he can, buddy." A soft chuckle had then released. "What do you think about next week… for Sergio to come over?"

"Yeah?"

"Really."

His son's face had lit up a touch again. "Okay, Daddy." And a sweet grin he had seen before receiving another hug. But as quickly as those arms had been surrounding his neck, Jack had pulled away.

"Can Emily come too?" The question had nothing but enthusiasm laced into each word.

Simply then he had dropped a tender kiss to Jack's forehead, attempting and failing to control the laugh and the upward twitch of his thin lips from growing even more.

If the cat would be coming, there would be without a doubt his owner would as well. "Yeah… Emily can come too."

He threads his fingers into hers before he murmurs softly for her ears to hear.

"And you too…"

Emily feels her heart directly swelling at the last little piece of information.

Seven weeks ago, the first Sunday of November had been their encounter at the museum as Emily, Daddy's friend who helps him fight the monsters. Jack had wanted to show his father all he had seen of those dinosaurs and fossils he had enjoyed just the prior week on the class field trip. And when Hotch had informed her of the activities for the upcoming first Sunday of November, he had softly asked her to come along with them. Yet she had declined at first; almost at once while shaking her head slowly and feeling her heart thump a beat faster.

But near her mouth he had whispered quietly with an encouraging grin, "I've been thinking about it… and I think it will be… good… for us. And I… talked to Jack. He was so excited about the trip; he had screamed that it was okay for me to bring you along."

She had been nervous. Her palms had turned too moist because despite the good, wonderful even, relationship with his father for the last seven months, meeting Jack would have been a new experience for her. And perhaps it had been the moment where Emily had fully realized that it would had made them more real than before because if she had been honest then and maybe now too, everything about him, about them, felt, feels surreal.

Once they had arrived, meeting her at the entrance with the three story high faux Brontosaurus, Emily had shifted her eyes to Hotch, who has simply given her the slightest nod with the corners of his lips tugged up. "Hey Jack." She had wiped her hands on dark jeans while her heart had continued to skip beats.

Sitting in his father's arms, the little boy had smiled shyly and waved tentatively at the first observation of her. "Hi."

But after that moment, it had changed.

It had gone well.

The fear she felt in her and the timidity in his son had vanished once his large brown eyes had soaked up the sights of the dinosaurs.

Ogling at the sharp bones and the large structures they created as Jack had recited all the information he remembered from his teacher, it had been an experience Emily knew she wouldn't forget. And when they had been at the section of fossils with footprints of those extinct species and the imprints of leaves, she had been kneeling on the ground beside Jack, asking her simple questions that the boy had answer proudly while he set his wondrous gape on her.

Yet Hotch hadn't.

For a while he hadn't knelt next to him to listen closely to all he had to say, to all the information he had been so eagerly to tell him before because he had observed from four steps back as the woman he couldn't stop wanting, needing had been engrossed in all his son had to tell. After six minutes had ticked away though, she had finally realized the stare he had on them and immediately felt the blush rise into her cheeks.

Emily had stood up then and walked back next to him while Jack had continued studying all the rocks behind the glass.

With her voice barely audible and her gaze still on his son, she had murmured to him, "I think… this is my third time… ever… seeing this kind of stuff..." She had waved her hand slightly in the air and laughed lightly and pathetically in her ears.

And from the corner of his eye, noting that his son had still been absorbed into the artifacts, Hotch had quickly pressed his mouth to her temple.

"I'm glad I came along..." Emily had turned to look up at him soon after with a grateful and bashful beam gracing his presence. "Thank you…"

Jack had glanced behind him then. "Emily… daddy… look at this!" He had bellowed excitedly before looking back to the display

Upon his son's beckoning for them, she had twisted her gaze away from Hotch's. But when the first step had been taken towards his son, a tender touch on the small of her back he had placed on her. She had stopped. "And I think he's glad you came along too…" It had been a murmur, yet despite the crowd and few children screaming surrounding them, Emily had heard it loudly and clearly and felt her pulse quicken.

Weekend afternoons following that first Sunday she had been introduced to his son and spent four hours observing the dinosaurs bones and listening to all Jack had to say and the extra fifty three minutes they had spent in the gift shop as his son had chosen all the dinosaur memorabilia to his liking, Emily had found the little boy tugging too much at her heartstrings. And the trips to the aquarium, to the park and the few lunches and dinners she had attended to in their home with Jack informing Hotch that Emily made the better truck noises and roars to the tyrannosaurus than him; she had found herself wrapped around his tiny fingers with the smiles and giggles he gave her.

She hums softly for a moment. "Hmm… maybe next weekend then…"

"Next weekend's Christmas…"

Emily angles her head as her slim index finger of her right hand grazes the lines at the corner of his eyes.

"Then maybe the following-"

"You should bring Sergio with you… when you come over… next weekend…" He feels his heartbeat increasing wondering if she catches what he mean.

Instantaneously she does and he realizes because the rose color creeps into her porcelain skin. "Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you and your son, Aaron Hotchner?" she whispers quietly, hoping to mask the small tremor in her words before biting the bottom of her pink lips with her dimples appearing just a little.

"Yeah… I am." Hotch sweeps her bangs back. "We will be baking gingerbread cookies… singing along to Christmas carols…" She arches ever so slightly an eyebrow, the unbelievable yet warming image of him doing those things with Jack popping into her head. "And I'll be making the cocoa again… and I guarantee you it will be fun." A crooked smile he gives her. "So what do say?"

Another step for them she knows this will be. And in his gaze on her, she sees the hope and the trace of fear. He wants her to, he wants it and despite the trepidation that flows through her blood, she wants it too. To spend even a little more time with him and his son because she's falling deeper and deeper each day into him, into them.

Burying a feel through his short and soft hair, Emily inquires lightly. "You sure?" The hint of uncertainty in her brief question is similar to what he sees in her dark eyes.

His hold around her firms and pushes her closer to him. "Positive."

She licks the corners of her mouth. "Okay…" He raises his head the inch off the pillow to tenderly seize her lips for a moment. And when she pulls away just barely; their lips left grazing one another still, Emily states gleefully as a twinkle emerges in the center of her pupils. "I'll bring Sergio with me so Jack can have a little play date with him..."

The tip of her tongue peeks out to tickle his mouth. "And maybe if you are on Santa's good list… we can have a play date too…" Her words trail off, but he cannot help but note the seductiveness lingering in them while he laughs warmly.

Carefully she presses her forehead down to his. Noses alongside one another and her long and curl lashes so close to his sight, a hand of his moves up the three inches to the nape of her neck under her shoulder length dark hair. With his thick and callous fingers, Hotch starts a soothing massage. It takes hardly ten seconds before his face disappears from her view.

"That… feels… good."

He chuckles faintly. Slowly his touch travels down the back of her spine to the small of her back. The pressure increases a little as the knots come undone.

Emily sighs contently by his mouth. "You know… what else would feel… good?" She nearly moans when the heel of hand digs hard into her. "Something… like… last night…"

Being home, knowing there would be no hours in the office for the following day and including the fact that his son had been attending a sleepover at his cousins, she had just wanted to spend the night with him. With three long and tiring cases back to back to back, what she had wanted was to feel their naked bodies crushed together. So last night at seventeen minutes after ten when most of everyone in the bullpen had dispersed because it had been a Friday night, Emily had ambled up into his office. She had entered in her chest hugging Venetian red blouse and black skirt that outlined her curves wearing those black heels with the scarlet soles that had been distracting him for the most of the day.

She had placed the last file she had completed in front of him, a coy curl of her red lips with the accompanying dazzling pink blush ghosting her porcelain doll face.

"So… I've been missing a certain someone… _really_ bad…"

Hotch had known precisely what she meant and doing his best to control the grin that wanted to emerge, he had angled his head, indicating to the last two files placed at the corner of his desk he had hoped to complete.

But all Emily had done was stick out her bottom red lip and batted her lashes mischievously and shook her head side to side merely once before speaking softly that single word he had trouble resisting even after their almost nine months when it left her mouth.

"_Please_."

That had been it.

Her gaze bit by bit flies open to him while she pats his cheek gently and playfully twice. "And apparently _you_ were missing a certain someone too…"

Hardly able to sweep his mouth to hers because she frees herself from his strong arms and pushes her body up before standing. And Hotch watches as she turns and saunters through the path of their clothes once more until Emily reaches the door. He doesn't know if she realizes another peak of the dark violet lace against her creamy skin is teasing his eyes _and_ body now when she bends over his black suit jacket. In twelve seconds, she is standing upright again, the delicious view gone with an unknown item in her right hand he notes while the left continues to clutch to her phone as she makes her journey back to him. But instead of parking herself back on that edge of his bed like before, Emily climbs onto it, the mattress shifting a touch under her light weight. She straddles his torso. The lace that is shielding her; that he can't see anymore but now can feel against his skin, makes the tiny hairs on him begin to stand.

And dropping her phone just beside her bent knee to splay her left hand on the center of his chest, what she holds up in her grasp, apparently the item she has just retrieved from his black suit jacket on the floor, is his ID tag. The clip of it between her index finger and her thumb with a sugary curve of her pink lips, Emily swings the tag side to side.

"_Really bad_…" Her dancing eyes widen a touch. "Because _you_, Agent Hotchner, never even took this off… and you usually… _always_... do it right when you get into your car…" She starts gently scratching his chest with her short and bitten nails.

His stomach rumbles from the small chuckle beneath her delicate body. "Well, I did have someone giving me no choice but to leave earlier than I had intended too… and once I got into the car, I had a lot on my mind…" Hotch settles his large and rough hands on her velvety thighs.

Her charming laughter follows subsequently while her head inclines to her left, the sunlight shining onto her dark eyes. "You _sure_ did…" She states it with bright chortle before flipping the ID tag over. For a few minutes as his limps on her begin to move back and forth on her silky flesh, Emily sets her eyes on the item in her hand.

The tag that will tell the world who he the moment he steps inside a station and outside into the streets. The tag that Jack had borrowed on that last night of October she had learned when he had donned a suit and his father's favorite tie once again with an orange bucket in his tiny grasps. And the tag that perhaps forbids her being in his home on an early Saturday morning wearing his shirt, sitting on his naked body and remembering in the back of her mind the months, the days, the hours, the minutes they have spent blissfully tangled in each other.

"You okay?"

His low inquiry breaks her from her thoughts. She looks to him, finding his intrigued stare upon her. Those slight movements on his skin have yet to cease.

Emily nods. "Yeah…I'm okay." In four seconds though, she returns her attention back to what she holds.

This picture is nothing like how he is when wearing the dry cleaned suits and perfectly knotted ties. He hardly smiles on the job. His mouth forms the terse line all too often. His face is stoic. Sometimes she finds it to be even expressionless. Creases form on his forehead. He concentrates too deeply on the evidence they discover and the files he checks over. And his eyes are too hard and very intense. She knows it can send chills down anyone's spine.

Yet what he looks like at work, how he is when he is in his attire of a suit and a tie with this ID tag attached to the front pocket is perhaps simply a mask, she believes. A mask so he can reserve all his emotions, for people to know that everything needs to be done appropriately, that what they do leaves no effect on him regardless of how disturbing the cases become, that he is not the one to play games with for the simple reason that he deals with no nonsense.

Because with the continuous stare she has on the one by one photo of him and the stare interested stare she senses on her from him currently, Emily knows that only a handful of people get to see him without the mask.

And she is one of them.

Behind the badge and the closed doors, she gets to experience _him_.

The smile he has in the photo showing off his straight white teeth with the irresistible indentations on the side of his face, she receive when they are alone together or when she watches him with Jack. It's a smile that makes her cheeks grow warm and her heartbeat jumps a beat or three. His face is calm. Like on nights when she is invited over for dinner and Jack eagerly helps with the setting of the table or like now, the fresh woken up face he has with him studying her. His forehead is free from the crinkling lines, because instead they reside at the corner of his eyes for the simplest reason that smile he gives to the camera is real. That is always how she knows the smile he gives, the laughs as well she hears of are genuine. And those hard eyes have turned soft. Yet despite the softness, they remain intense. Regardless, they always are. In bed or up against the wall as he thrusts into her while their eyes are kept open on one another to soak in the passion crossing between them or out to another trip she goes with him and Jack and listening to all the stories his son has to tell them both, the intensity never can leave.

Each time he sets his those eyes packed with emotions on her, she feels her barriers cracking and her heart growing as her mind journeys back to the night that had begun the first of many nights where she got to; gets to see his soft, but intense eyes.

In Atlantic City on the last Thursday of the month of March, they had finally finished solving the case of the nine mutilated prostitutes. All nine that had dark hair and fair skin, that had her becoming bait for another time, that had her walking too far from his sight and that had him worrying about losing her when the bullet had been fired.

When it had been twenty seven minutes after midnight and everyone had been down in the casino putting their cards on the table, pulling the long handle on the slot machine, placing their biggest bet on the game of roulette, they had gambled too.

In his room had been where they had played the game only the two of them ever could.

What they had been put on the table had been their last year. What she had been feeling since New York, what he had been realizing since Colorado, what they had been building since Foyet had been spread to see, to ultimately acknowledge that it hadn't been just in their heads.

Emily hadn't been able to stop herself from going to him. The invisible magnets had pulled her, forced her forward with the distance they had tried to put between them disappearing. And once they were close, with their hearts pounding in their chests as their breathing turned sharp and ragged, the dice that had been enclosed in her palm had been released and went tumbling down.

Once Hotch had raised one hand to cradle the back of her head while his other had cupped her face and she had nodded ever so slowly and fisted his shirt right above his pumping out of control organ, what they had bet had been what they had locked away, what they had been so afraid to let go for so long.

Their hearts; their biggest possession they had placed between them.

And as soon as his lips had crashed onto her, that endless pondering, the wild imagination about one another's taste had finally halted. Strawberries had been dancing on her lips while coffee had been lingering on his tongue. With the beautiful mix of each other assaulting every sense, every nerve, what they both had realized was that they couldn't lose.

The game, the outcome that would be of a night of gambling would be in their favor.

Nine months later, it still is.

"I like your picture…" Emily murmurs quietly as her eyes shift to find his once more.

Hotch raises his eyebrows at her while he glides to her inner thighs. The slightest tremble of her body he feels with the motion.

Six years has made a big difference.

Work has made a difference.

His hair is longer, thick and black in the image. His face looks the slightest touch fuller with hardly any circles under his bright eyes. And compared to now, this moment they are in, it's much shorter, a bit thin and only if she looks very closely, there are the tiniest specks of grey hair. His face had thinned, his cheeks looking hollow every now and then. The circles under his eyes, bright right now, are evident. From the little sleep to the hectic schedule of their jobs, of their lives, they have increased over the years.

"You look… younger…" She chuckles lowly at her chosen word. There is no hesitation from him to let out a laugh as Hotch feigns hurt. "But still…handsome… like now…"

_Because you always do to me_, Emily wants to finish telling him.

Each year that has passed, each month that drifts by, each day that disappears and each minute that ticks away while she gets yet another opportunity to see him, to love him has every part of him growing more irresistible to her.

Like the bottles of fine wines imported from the northern regions of France and the southern regions of Italy placed on the mahogany wood shelf on her kitchen countertop, she is more than sure that he only gets better with age.

Yet with the pink she feels staining her cheeks too quickly with the simple compliment she gives him makes her just stop there. And when he laughs once again, the sound a beautiful tune to her ears, Emily lowers her head to hide her face. Her gaze rests upon the device she had placed down beside her.

Motionless she is with eyes fixated on it before she picks her phone back up while his ID tag remains in her possession. Her face he still can't see from his angle whilst her thumb moves swiftly across the phone screen. Hotch watches her tapping down gently before placing his tag onto his bare chest.

"What are you doing?" The query is calm, but the curiosity and amusement are plain and simple flowing into her ears.

A syrupy giggle is into his though.

"You will wait and see."

Her response comes out in a sing song tone while she brings her phone over the lamented item on his body.

Doing her best to steady her hands and for a clear shot, Emily senses him watching her like a hawk. And he does so as his mind continues to wonder what she wants to do presently with her phone and his ID tag. And once the phone in her hands descends just two more centimeters down and she bites the corner of her mouth because it's a clear and good shot, Hotch moves fast, his large hand interrupting what she's working for.

"_No_… what are you doing?"

Her head shoots up with her mouth ajar.

"I had my shot!" she exclaims with her charming laughter.

Emily covers his hand, her slim fingers curing around his hand and attempts to pry it off the item underneath. But he only uses a little more muscle to keep it under his protection.

"Aaron."

A breathless chuckle she releases.

"Emily."

It resembles too much of the ones she had let out late last night.

"Aaron."

Another try she takes at peeling his hand back.

"Emily."

His fingers coil around the item of her desire, doing his best to hold in his laughter.

"Give it to me."

She groans lightheartedly in frustration and allows her hands to fall to her sides. And slowly, she sticks her bottom lip out. His hand on her thigh reaches up to palm her cheek. Emily flutters her long and curl lashes towards his direction just like last night.

"No."

The answer is firm and instantly her lip goes back in as her hands move again to retrieve the ID tag back from him. But too fast for her with his personal item in his grasp, Hotch raises his arm up and out. She bites the corner of her bottom lip, watching a large smile and his dimples grace his morning face.

"Please."

It's light and enchanting. Their stares leveled on one another, Emily shifts forward two inches. The lace she wears rubs gently on his skin. The faintest jolts arise in him. And when he inhales a little sharply, vanilla and blossom mixing with scent of fabric softener from his sheets with that twist of his mouth remaining, he allows his touch to travel down her slender neck and to the dress shirt that is only held together by one single white button before he presses it to her thigh once more.

"Why do you want it?"

Emily ignores his question though and tries to get onto her knees, but he holds her in down firmly. Her high laughter rings through his room and stamps onto his heart.

"Aaron! Give it to me!"

Hotch chuckles, one that warms her from the inside out, at her voice that mixes between a squeal and a scream. He lowers his arm and what she wants remains far from her reach because he lays the limb out, his hand just hanging off the mattress. Gradually he shakes his head side to side against his pillow. Both her hands she settles on his warm chest despite the exposure and winter season before they slide up and she lowers her body down to his. Her mouth rests against his left ear.

"Please..."

Her breath sweeps along his skin and he sighs quietly. Emily raises her head up to look at him, her eyes wide and hopeful for him to give it to her.

"No."

She pushes her body up to his while lowering her head once more, her lips coming in contact to his.

"I love you…"

He simply turns his head left and right, a grin forming against her mouth while she does her best to suppress hers. And slowly and teasingly, she moves from his mouth and down the centimeters to his jaw line, nibbling on his skin that smells of something piney and spicy. Then descending to his neck, Emily nudges his head to the side for better access. Hotch does so without delay, rolling his head while his free arm wraps around her back. She makes her way to the pressure point on his neck and sucks on it. He grunts softly. Her hands on him rub against him. Those faint jolts from moments ago increase a bit more as he shifts under her once.

"Please..."

Her plead is whispered hotly on his flesh.

Taking three large gulps of air, a larger grin she cannot see, he murmurs his response.

"No."

It takes her three seconds and an inch down before she bites him fairly hard.

Hotch shouts with pain in between his laughter, but all Emily can do is giggle before continue her trail of kisses on him.

"No biting…" The angry and condemning tone he tries to give fails.

She shakes her head all the while her lips to his flesh never stop.

The tips of his fingers stroke the side of her breast. "I don't… have an extensive… turtleneck collection…" he manages to get his statement out.

Again, her giggles are on his skin and wraps around the bedroom because that extensive turtleneck collection had grown because of him. Every once in a while when Emily finds too much enjoyment in teasing him for nine minutes longer with feather kisses and brushes from her fingertips or torturing him when her tongue just drags across the slit of him and no more merely to have him squirm before begging for more, or taunting him when she makes him only watch while her slender fingers bury into her heated core, Hotch leaves a mark on her neck for payback. She would yelp each time, panic setting in that the bite would swell tremendously by morning time before laughing and simply pushing him even closer to her because those marks she is well aware of just solidify one thing in her head, her heart.

She belongs to no one else but him.

Continuing her journey, Emily savors all that she can. The hold on the laminated tag he possesses tightens a bit. She moves pass his strong collarbone and downward to his chest. Her hands move to either side of him. And instead of a vertical journey down, her head shifts the couple inches because little by little, her tongue slithers out to brush over his nipples and he almost jerks under her. His breathing labors, a couple of short pants escaping in between while his eyes close. The arm he has around her she starts to slide out of as she moves lower and lower. His thick comforters that had been over him nudge further back, the edge a mere half an inch from the base of him. Hotch rests his hand on the back of her hair.

"Please…"

His head still moves side to side.

"No."

But his answer is followed by a weak chuckle and a large gulp of air, and she thinks that maybe even if he will not give it up to her, this morning, knowing what she is doing to him currently might possibly be worth more.

Yet her body shifts down still, with her feather kisses until she reaches the area that has the scatter spots of pink creased flesh. And through them, she makes her way up and down to _all_ nine of the inescapable reminders. She leaves not one of them alone, bestowing a slight pucker of her mouth on every individual scars that house so many nightmares for him _and _her because with them, she can never forget any moment.

That night in Atlantic City for two hours as they had relished the delicious taste of one another and the feeling of her wrapped tightly from tip to base of him for the first time, Emily had wanted to avoid them. She hadn't looked at them too close, her eyes sought for every part of his body besides his torso. She hadn't done her best not to touch them, her hands had not gone anywhere near them. And that first experience of nibbling on the very ridges, encasing him as far and deep as she could have with her mouth and throat, allowing her tongue to dance under him, Emily had glanced up every few minutes through her fanned lashes to watch his lips opening slightly with those quick gasps while his eyes had been shut too tight.

She had pretended those scars hadn't even been there.

And Hotch had been grateful.

Other than his doctor who he had seen for a four checkups, no one else had ever seen the hideous marks on him. When she had pushed his dress shirt off and tugged the white undershirt swiftly off, he had instantly remembered those scars on him. And he had known he had been ridiculous to do so, but a tiny pray had been said in the back of his brain, hoping she would pay no attention to them.

Because even if he was the stoic man that barely smiled with people around, the confident man who holds so strong when people second guess him, the reserved man who keeps everything bottled up because being weak never had been an option for him, he, underneath the pressed suits and starched shirts and the knotted silk ties had been an insecure man. And being with her; finding that she had wanted him as much as he had wanted her, had been a bombshell. A woman that could have gotten everyone with a flash of her radiant smile, that could have had anyone with a simple glance behind her shoulder, that could have lure anything towards her with her laughter, hadn't looked anywhere, hadn't looked at anyone but at him.

Emily Prentiss had chosen him.

For those first two hours of that night, she had paid no mind to them. Not a glance to see the ugliness, not one touch to feel the disgustingness.

That pray had been successful.

But near the end of their third hour, after almost forty minutes resting together under the thick hotel comforter as her head had been placed on his chest listening to his subtle heartbeat and his arm had been wrapped around her, Emily had gently sat up. Hotch had lain perfectly still, his touch settling onto her warm and smooth back.

She hadn't been able to stop imagining them. She hadn't been able to stop wondering if he had wanted her to acknowledge them on him. She hadn't been able to stop thinking if he had thought she had been disgusted by them, by him because she hadn't been. Those two hours of enjoying him for the first time, hoping she would get more nights to do so, and the near hour of lying with him, being revolted had been the last feeling that could ever cross her mind.

It had just been her fear of unburying that afternoon all over again.

Him not answering those phone calls, her finding his blood seeped and darkening into his sandy colored carpet and her seeing him in the hospital bed with the tubes attached to his arms and nose, that afternoon had been, and still is perhaps, stained onto the side of her brain.

Emily just hadn't wanted to dredge it up. But the more she had tried to suppress all those loose and running thoughts, the harder and faster they had swarmed back in. And without a warning, she had turned slightly as her shaking fingers had reached for the edge of what had been protecting him from her and peeled it back. Face to face then, she had come to those nine scars that terrified her, nine scars that would be a forever reminder that she could have lost him that afternoon.

His hands though had almost instantly risen to shield what he hadn't wanted her to see. The calm breathing he had had from lying with her changed, intensified rather rapidly.

"Don't… just…" In her ears, she had begged, desperate for the courage to meet them.

Carefully lifting away his left hand, her left had gripped onto his right with fingers weaving together. Then a quaking touch had been onto one of his scars, the largest one she had deemed out of them all. Hotch hadn't been able to speak, the faint waves of the Atlantic Ocean cutting the stillness every few moments in the dimly lit room on the nineteenth floor of the hotel. It had taken two minutes before she cautiously moved her fingertip, tracing the size and the shape of it, wondering in the back of her head if touching it had been hurting him. Then she had drifted off to another and another, and when she had come in contact with the sixth pink irremovable patch of wrinkled skin, he had finally found his voice.

"I… don't want… you… to look at them…"

The words had come out in a stutter before the small lump had formed in his throat. Yet Emily had remained wordless, her voice lost to her like to him seconds ago, registering what he had truly just meant because sometimes she can profile him too easily, flashing back too fast to that afternoon all the while continuing her outline of them. Each ticking seconds had the clasp of their hands tightening.

She had been afraid of letting him go.

He had been afraid she had wanted to let go.

And once the last reminder she had felt alongside the tip of her finger, she had found it.

"I was…" She had taken a shaky breath. "_So_ scared..."

Her confession had been forced meekly out her mouth. When she had finally snapped her head up, all Hotch had been met by were her watery dark eyes.

"Did you know that?"

A weak smile Emily had offered to him, but hardly four seconds had passed before it had vanished.

With those hands of theirs together, he had gently pulled her down to him. Half of her body lying atop of him, one long leg of hers tangled with both of his, their face had been only three inches apart. The water in her eyes had clung fiercely at the corners, refusing to fall.

"Yeah… I know…" His remark had trailed away, realizing that nothing else could be maybe said for her to be comforted from that afternoon.

The terror had been etched into her face when he had woken, set into her dark eyes each time he had found her looking at him and lingering in her tone once she had discovered the strength to ask if he had wanted to talk about what had happened.

Their hands still glued together, his left arm had encircled her tiny naked waist. Pressing herself closer to him, feeling the smallest jutting of his scars to her flesh, Emily had dropped her head down to his. Her eyes she had closed then, and that position they had stayed, inhaling one another, feeling the knots in their stomachs forming. And when she had opened her eyes eight minutes later to only find his shut, she had bumped him the slightest with the tip of her nose. His pupils had been just delicately glazed over.

"You're still _perfect_…"

Barely audible her whisper had been, but for Hotch, it had been too loud, ringing like the chimes from the slot machines on the ground floor.

A frail curl of his thin lips had appeared for her, accompanying the shy one she had offered him. Then gradually Emily had erased that space between their mouths, wanting, needing, prepared to show him he truly had been.

And even to this very second.

Regardless of scars, nightmares, guilt and mistakes, he feels constantly still, he thinks about too often, nothing could had, will, change that opinion, or fact like she will tell him when he needs to hear it, for her.

Once she has made her way through the journey of all nine of his scars, her mouth, her body lowers yet more. Hotch's breathing grows heavier, sensing where she is going, wondering if she will be doing what she had wonderfully and beautifully done to him so many times he has lost count. And the comforters that had fallen down, Emily is careful not to push them any further than the edge of him because once her puckering mouth reaches those tiny and fuzzy hairs on the base of him, she sits up. It takes him eleven seconds before he realizes that her mouth is no longer on him while her light weight is on his firm thighs before slowly his eyes peel back. What he meets is her twinkling gape along with the dazzling and undeniably teasing smile on her face.

"That's not fair," he whispers it hazily, his own beam materializing on his face.

Emily chuckles and gets on her knees, returning to his torso, sitting on top of his scars. "Please..." The lace brushes over his skin once more and for a moment; he believes he can feel that warmth of hers that turns him on a bit more through the material as well.

Hotch stretches and inhales acutely before settling back, his body melting into the mattress. "No." He has no intention of letting it go.

Yet, anyway because he knows he will eventually hand it over. He will give anything and everything if she asks. But for the moment in this morning, it is just a matter of waiting until she will explain why she wants that lamented tag and waiting to see what she will do to him to get it.

"Give. It. To. Me."

But the two letter answer does not leave his mouth like so many times already. He remains motionless as their eyes never waver from one another while that beam grows with his dimples appearing now.

"Please…" It's flirty. Her hands elevate. "Please…" Hotch watches as they make towards that single button that holds the dress shirt together. "Please…" Her pearly white teeth are flashed towards him. He has the more than an inkling of what she's going to do next. "Please…" His stare moves back up to her face, refusing to look those seven inches down.

Unhurriedly Emily locates the tiny white button and holds it between her index finger and her thumb. And in slow motion, thirteen seconds passing in the Saturday morning, she pushes that tiny circle out the selected space. He doesn't stop himself from licking his lips. She slowly pulls open the right side of the dress shirt. Even if he doesn't look directly down, he can still see the exposed breast for twenty one seconds before she lets the fabric fall back. And when she gives him the terse nod and a quick wink, he can't control himself and shifts his eyes below. Counting to the number thirty three in her head, she reveals the part of her body Hotch loves to caress, squeeze, suck and lick.

She cocks her perfectly threaded eyebrow, imagining that his mouth will turn dry, even if only a little in moments.

And what she imagines is the truth because his mouth does very so.

What he sees in front of him, he can _never_ get enough of.

Her ample and soft breasts he loves to knead hard when he penetrates into her to elicit the strangling moans from the back of her throat. The porcelain flesh he believes is the perfect compliment to her hardening rosy nipples as he surmises in the back of his mind that what she has been doing to him, has also been working on her too. That dark violet lace he had only gotten two small glimpses of and feeling against his flesh this morning, he sees finally now on her. The contrast of dark and light makes him want nothing than to push her back and take them off like how he had done so last night.

But instead of doing so, his eyes slither to the cursive black letters right underneath her left breast and above the first rib beneath the very round curve.

One thing he had never anticipated to discover on her body had been the dark coloring on her skin. He had never pegged her to have them. He had never imagined her having one, not once in those fantasies he had of her, Hotch had seen them in his head.

But she had them, two of them.

After she had unknotted his navy and black striped tie and pushed off his crisp light blue dress shirt, he had reached for the bottom of her curve hugging grey sweater under the silver moon in Atlantic City. Their faces had pulled apart for him to discard it, revealing the Midnight blue lace that cupped her breast firmly before he had captured her mouth once more and nudged her down to his tangled sheets. On top of her he had climbed, hands situated at both sides of her head with raven locks splayed out. Three minutes had passed before he had reluctantly allowed his mouth to wander, desperate then to savor the other parts of her. And down her slender neck to her protruding collarbone all the way down to her creamy chest, Emily had threaded her delicate fingers into his hair. Holding him and gasping for air, she had keep him in place as he had sucked softly at her cover harden buds until he had slipped his hand under her, doing his best to locate the clasp. When he had found it, it had been snapped quickly as her arms lifted and Hotch had backed away, pulling that barrier off.

That had been when he had seen it.

Right under the very round curve of her left breast above that rib bone had been black letters with the ellipsis the size of two of her thin fingers together written in a beautiful cursive.

Two weeks after her high school graduation, it had been a solo trip to France that had been a gift from her parents. A trip she had wanted more than anything and a trip where she had found herself pondering about her future, and what exactly she was to do with the remainder of her life, she had gotten herself inked. She hadn't thought long about it. Sitting in her hotel room, staring out at the view she first experienced at the age of six, she had gone out the following sunny morning. Words she had used so many times in so many languages in so many parts of the world ever since she was a child, she had put on herself in hopes that what she would decide in whatever aspect of her life would pan out.

He had leaned down again carefully over her as his fingers had moved to graze against that mark on her. Emily had nearly shuddered when Hotch had done so, feeling the chill racing up her spine. And both bodies had remained frozen except for the thick fingertip that had continued across that tiny area.

It hadn't been English; that he was certain of. That had been the only language he had known of besides those couple of lingering words in Spanish he had remembered from his high school years.

"_J'espére_..."

The gentleness of her words had echoed in the room and startled Hotch greatly. And then he had looked up, finding her eyes glassy eyes on him while her shaking hand rested over his.

"I hope… it's in French…"

A small bob of his head he had given to her before she had licked her red lips and given him the same gesture too, wanting him to, urging him to continue.

And he had, lowering his head once more to cover the stiff rosy nub with his mouth and sucked almost eagerly. Emily had begun to pant, resting her grasp on the back of his neck and squeezing it lightly. She had tasted better without the thin fabric protecting it, he had deemed. Once he had left her breasts, the tips of it shiny from the suction, Hotch had dropped a tender kiss on the marking that would from then on come up into his brain when he thought of her.

Then a journey down her flat and smooth stomach he had taken until he had reached the top of her black slacks. He had sat up, resting against the heels of his sock covered feet as he had descended to the minute black button. Forcing it through the hole, Emily had lifted one hand up, the back against her mouth, her heartbeat running too rapidly and her breathing changing too heavy.

His solid fingers had grabbed hold of the zipper, and cautiously and bit by bit, Hotch had pulled it down. The same color of Midnight blue that had caressed her breasts below that grey sweater had been shielding her underneath those black slacks as well. At that moment, the small peaks of her growing and growing, he had fallen in love with lace on her. She had gladly lifted her long legs up for him to pull the fabric off her. Once he had tossed them to the floor, Emily had wanted to chuckle just ever so slightly. There she had been, limbs slightly spread open and naked from head to toe except for the thin and little material that stretched over and around that lower part of her while he himself had been still in his suit pants and undershirt and socks even.

But in honesty, she hadn't minded it.

She had wanted to be his, had wanted him to make her his, molding her with his hands, his eyes, his mouth and as soon as he had make eye contact with her once more, what Hotch had seen had been nothing but yearning in her eyes. Emily felt herself growing warmer and wet for him, aching badly for his touch on her, in her. Then he had taken hold of the each side of lace and little by little tugged on it. Her breathing had started to turn into deep and dragging pants. His stare ready to see her, to admire her because he hadn't doubted that she would be beautiful, his heart pumping loudly, he had been surprised again. Because guarded by barely two inches of Midnight blue lace and approximately two and a half inches above and centimeters to the right had been another marking.

About just two inches in height and nearly three inches wide had been a pair of wings. His eyes never left it and her eyes never left him while he had slid the lace off of her. The details of it had been simple with the thick and curvy lines. The top of wings were slightly curled in, but the bottom of it, the black marks of feather had been fanned out intricately on her porcelain skin.

What a _very_ interesting place to put that, he had thought immediately.

He had looked up at her then, the glassy eyes he had been met by that first time during that discovery of those French word had lingered a touch still.

"Wings…" Hotch had nodded at her choked out word while her chest had rose and fell quickly.

For the new era in her life, figuring what she had wanted to do and wanted to become and perhaps feeling alive for the first time since she had been a child, it had been five days gone after she had been accepted into the academy for the mark to have come about.

So Emily had wanted to celebrate, a little gift to herself and something that would tell her that she had begun another chapter in her life, she had, cliché and all, told herself she was finally going somewhere, going to where she belonged.

Another nod Hotch had given to her until he had turned his attention below again. Just like the first time, his fingertip had grazed across the black ink permanent onto her skin before seizing both her thighs and spreading her open even more than before. Under the pale light of the room, he had seen her folds, dripping and begging. With his grasp firm, but gentle, he had settled down comfortably between her legs as her sweet and inviting scent had begun to assault his senses. The blood had been rushing so fast through her veins while she had watched him lower his head. Burying her slim fingers through his short black hair, holding him down to her, he had pressed a delicate kiss to that mark on her.

"Beautiful…"

About the second marking she had on her and the sight of her pink center, the low lone word alongside her skin had sent the tiny bumps rising on her flesh before he had drifted down to devour her hungrily and turned her world upside down.

Hotch exhales with a groan of defeat and but mostly in awe of what he stares at presently, what only _he _can admire and love about her. "That's _really_ unfair."

Emily snorts instantly with absolutely no inhibitions.

It's something.

That sound she lets out every now and then when something is just too funny to her, he finds sexy.

"Are we getting turned on now, Mr. Hotchner?" She saucily puckers her pink lips and makes the sweet kissing noise toward him.

There is nothing but mischief in her gape. His hand rises, craving, needing and ready to sweep the section of her skin underneath the perfect curve of her left breast. But just centimeters away, she shifts back; the gorgeous sight of her full and supple breasts bouncing just the touch causes the extra million sparks in his body to fly, _especially_ in the part that is still shielded by the covers, before she takes a hold of his hand. And with her other hand, she holds out and wags her index finger at him, the smile on her face resembling something the devil would give.

"You _don't_ touch…" Mouth opened ajar, she licks the corners slowly, those thoughts of what her tongue can do to him flooding his brain whist her head into the direction of the left. "Until you give _that_ to me…"

The dress shirt is further open as Emily arches her back and sits as perfectly straight up as possible. A large lump forms in his throat. The sunlight against her ivory skin is nearly indescribable to him. Those hard rosy peaks in front and above him are waiting to be covered by his mouth, flicked with his fingers. Once that surprising moan is heard even through his clenched jaw; she is more than well aware what she's doing to him. "Is it a deal, _sir_?"

And she feels no guilt.

Curving up an eyebrow at her, he tugs on their clasped limps. "What do you want to do with it?" Emily shifts up some. Temptation edges closer. He narrows his gaze up toward her. Her warmth is increasing on his skin he feels.

Shrugging playfully, the devilish smile still present in his line of stare is impossible to be erased at the moment. "I like your picture…" she whispers pleasantly.

"_I know. _You mentioned that already," he remarks with a low chortle, unable to tear his eyes away from her chest.

Hotch folds in his left arm, the ID tag near her once again. She makes no grab for it though. He makes no motion to hand it to her.

He is aching to touch her. It almost hurts.

Because it's impossible not to want to every time he's near her.

In the office when they stand just a mere inch and a half apart whilst he pours her coffee and she whispers how long a day it has been, he resists putting his arm around her. In the car when they drive back to the hotel as she stares out the window with a daze look because she's too wrapped up in her worries for the victims, he stops himself from grabbing her hand when he sees people in the rearview mirror. On the jet when she sits beside him and falls asleep with the book on her lap and the blanket falling down from her shoulders, he halts before tucking those loose strands of dark hair behind her ear.

But sometimes it's not because what she says or the sad look she has on her face or how peaceful she appears when her eyelids drop down that makes him want to do so.

He just can't help it.

She simply has an effect on him that cannot ever change, an effect he never wants to change, and he knows she knows this tiny piece of information about him.

And at this precise moment, Emily uses it, uses his weakness to her advantage.

Hotch imagines two little horns appearing on top of her raven head right now.

Bringing their threaded fingers close to her lips, a sweet and soft kiss she settles on the back of his hand before lowering it down, the graze against her extremely tense pink bud very intentional.

This woman doesn't play fair.

So reluctantly with a deep and steady inhale of air and of the vanilla and blossoms lingering around flowing up his nose, his charming and surrendering grin with the dimples finding a way out, Hotch passes over his ID tag to her. Happily Emily accepts it, that devil like smile turning into a sweet and innocent one.

Resistance is useless.

Gradually she leans down, allowing their naked chests to compress together, the wonderful feel of hardened nipples into his skin when he slides an arm under the dress shirt to surround around her back. She catches his mouth in hers without hesitation. Her taste of strawberries hits every taste bud. His reward; it's arousing and like so many kisses they've shared; it's filled with fervor as their tongues are wrestling each other for forty seven long seconds before she pulls away a little with one last parting nibble on his top lip. Her eyes are drunk with love from the kiss while a loving coil of her swollen lips materializes.

"Thank you."

Kissing her again he can't do, let alone give her a response as Emily releases her hand from his and flips over. Her covered back to his naked chest, she lies completely on top of him. The thick comforters have not been moved, the edge still resting at the base of him. Her long legs are bent up and spread with her feet planting firmly next to the sides his torso. The dress shirt is left widely out, the tips of her breasts continuing to point up. She makes no motion to pull the fabric over herself. Her head, Emily lays it right by his, on his pillow and feeling his stable breathing in unison with hers.

The scent of vanilla and blossoms that he can never escape from are soaking into every pore in him, ascending up his nose while the angle of her, seeing her breasts that appear like mountains to just the teasing glance of the dark violet lace, Hotch will not deny that he loves this position they are momentarily in.

He would stay like this if he can.

Emily props her elbow, holding up that item she had wanted and now is in her possession, to see, to admire. And under her, he studies it as well, speculating the sudden adoration of the ID tag that he wears every day when he works.

Snaking his arms around her, the dress shirt crumples up a bit. Her free hand settles onto his strong forearm, scratching lightly at his skin through the hairs. The thumb of his right limb instantly makes his way to the area below the curve of her left breast exactly over the ink.

Hotch doesn't have to ever glance anymore.

Every time she is in his arms, his touch finds those French words he can now say because in bed every now and then, she plays teacher.

Because whenever she likes to out of a whim, Emily speaks a few words of the languages she knows to make him laugh lightly and to turn him on because it does do so very well. Yet it is the French that he loves the most out of them all. When those words leave her sweet mouth, hearing the letters roll of her tongue; Hotch is more than certain that it truly is the language for romance. And each time she does speak those words from country of France, he grins ever so slightly at her, hoping she'll continue with whatever she murmurs into his ear before she prods him or nibble on his earlobe and asks him to repeat after her.

"_Je te veux."_

That had been the first time, first thing she had ever whispered to him in another language under the New York night sky seven weeks after Atlantic City.

He had turned to her, stares leveled while her heart had beat wilding below her ribcage. There had been nothing but confusion in him, his knowledge of what she had spoken to him nonexistent. In a mere minute though, close to his ear once again with the small upward twist of her plump red lips, she had done it again.

"_I want you_."

But _that_ he had understood clear like crystals. That had caused his pulse to quicken.

Hotch had then placed his mouth next to hers, and foolishly and clumsily repeated those same words. He had been aware at how it had sounded. Unlike hers, it hadn't been smooth and beautiful. But Emily had shaken her head at him with her soft smile gracing her flustered face, hoping, encouraging him to try again and again until he could get it right. He had wanted too as well, reciprocate those words just like how she said it in the language she knew like the back of her hand because it had been something different.

So he had tried and tried until after the fourth try with her glistening body glued to his, he had got it just like how she had whispered it.

No more talking had been done after that.

That night had sparked the private lessons. Each night whenever they could find the time together in secret here or there, she had taught him the few words and sentences he wished to know how to say. Some were romantic while others were only meant to be said in the dark by one another's ear so no one else could ever hear. And once in a while when Emily wanted to, she would tease him and a test he would be given. Whatever Hotch had ever learned from her had to be recited back for her approval. If every word he spoke, every phrase he whispered had been correct, which usually were because he was _always_ the good student, a reward he would receive from her

His thumb is caressing back and forth tenderly over the black ink.

Emily hums quietly, enjoying the touch on her. Something she loves from him because those large and callous hands and those thick fingers are nothing but gentle when it's against her flesh. And at the moment, leaving the dress shirt open for him to see her, feeling his constant stroke, and looking at the one by one photo of him that perhaps means more to her, says more to her than he can probably imagine, she feels the thousand and one pulls on her heartstrings and the million and one flames lit in between the fibers of her body.

She would stay like this if she can.

For a long while, the stillness envelops them. Her focus never leaves that item in her hand. Hotch looks out the corner of his eyes at her, pondering still in the back of his head what she sees that he doesn't, what she finds so fascinating with what he has given to her.

He can't understand it.

"Jack has your smile…"

The sudden whispered words slice the silence. A small beam forms on her face he spots instantaneously. He tightens his arms around her, the brushing against the French ink halting.

"Hmmm… you think so?"

Jack looks like Haley. That's what he thinks every time he looks at his son. There is no doubt in her mind either. From the golden blonde hair to the big brown eyes and even his button nose, he has those features from his mother. But to Emily, those smiles that he presents to her now whenever she gets the opportunity to spend the afternoon with both father and son, the sacks full of laughter he lets spill out while they play a round of tag before she attacks him with tickles or sit on his living room floor playing dinosaurs and trucks to the warm hugs that he has begun to give her since a month ago before they say goodbye until next time, are all from his father.

Nodding slightly, she answers him thoughtfully. "Yeah… he does…"

A sweet and short kiss Hotch plants on her hair. Soon after, Emily shifts in his arms, lifting her head barely up, her hand feeling for the phone she had placed down earlier. And once she has it in her grasp, the same position she takes back and settles comfortably in, melting into him. But unlike before; this time a hand of his wanders around to her flat stomach.

Her fingers move swiftly against the screen of the device she holds. Hotch watches her tap on the tiny pictures before raising that ID tag with his face and position the phone with the camera turned on before it. He says nothing, listening to her breathing, enjoying the scent of her, knowing that her concentration she has momentarily is to do whatever she had intended to do prior to his interruption. His hand begins to move on her, the side of it grazing against the edge of the dark violet lace. The hold of the items she has shakes a little, waiting for the clear shot of that one by one photo of his smiling face before she gently taps the against the screen once more, the click going off.

There it is.

Wordless Emily remains as she continues the light raps on the phone while he simply observes and mesmerizes the movements of her fingers. And one then another and another before he sees what she finally does with that image she has snapped. He can't stop the chuckle rolling off his tongue. She can't stop hers from following his because it's too contagious.

"First… you do realize that I'm right _here_…"

Hotch nearly deadpans this thought, which simply causes the noise from her mouth to grow louder.

"I know."

The hand on her stomach drifts the almost three inches down, the tips of four thick fingers over the lace. "So if you had wanted a picture of me… you could've just taken one of me…"

She hums sweetly while swiftly pressing onto those few tiny pictures once more to bring up the camera again. "_Oh_… you mean I could have…" Her voice teases him to a tee. "Like _now_… in bed… _naked_…" And like a teenage girl because he makes her feel that way too often, she holds the phone over their faces with her arm barely folded; Emily leans closer to him, the top of her head to his cheek with the wide beam present on her face. "_Smile_…"

Just when Hotch does so with the hearty laugh coming out at the same time, she taps the button for the picture.

The phone she lowers and turns over, bringing close the picture of them to examine.

Her smile is beautiful, the pink lips complimenting her ivory skin. The bangs are sweep to the side from the position of her head. Even with the distance from the lens to her face, he can still see the long curls of her luscious eyelashes. His dimples emerged out with the mixing smile and laugh. The lines at the corners of his eyes are apparent. That wonderful sound of his will be heard every time she will set her eyes on the photo, on the moment she has captured she is sure of.

"Would you rather I use _this_ instead?" Emily jests playfully.

He turns his head a few degrees to set a kiss to her temple before she feels him shaking his head gently and almost snorts with amusement.

"But I won't… anyway… because like I said before… I like that picture of you." She giggles, bringing up that image once again. "And now, since you have kindly given me my shot, I think I _love_ this picture."

An animated sigh comes out with the first rub of her flesh above the black ink and over the thin piece of lace. "Is that so?" Hotch murmurs curiously.

She bobs twice beside him and states matter-of-factly, "It is so… one of my favorites if that is your second point…"

He shakes his head. "Umm, _no_, that is not my second point." Another one of her chuckles break through.

And slowly turning his hand a few degrees, Hotch slides it gingerly down between those slightly open and bent long legs of hers until the warmth he had felt on his torso is opposite of his hand. It's increasing and intensifying. His thick middle finger is directly on the nub he enjoys to suck and nibble on countless rounds to make her explode into his mouth. She gasps ever so slightly, feeling her body start to smoke. The one arm that has remained around her firms more. The laughter he keeps inside of him.

"My second point is…" His voice had suddenly turned softer, tickling her heart. "Wondering what will happen… if someone sees _that…_ when I call you?"

In his inquiry, filled with interest for her answer, there is the tiniest trace of concern Emily picks up without delay.

Because even after the almost end of the ninth months of being together, of finding the flames of their passion growing higher and higher, of feeling the love blooming between them; they have yet to tell anyone.

One another they've been hiding because feeling something more hadn't, isn't supposed to happen. Not in a million years had he imagined wanting her, needing her and not in a million years had she imagined falling for him.

So a secret club they had formed, a secret club with only the two of them as members.

And a secret club she hopes that would remain just that for as long as possible because she believes if people find out about it, if people discover what they do in there, the emotions he elicits in her, the joy she finds in spending afternoons with him and his son and the knowledge of those thoughts she has every once in a while about where they will be _together_ in five years, Emily believes everything will fall apart.

They will fall apart.

The rules they both know clearly. The rules that will hold him back from reaching the top. The rules that will tell them it is impossible to stay side by side on the field and off. The rules that will tell her, tell him weaving into one another in the most intricate way of the heart and mind isn't worth the risks of their careers.

She doesn't want to lose it; she doesn't want to lose him.

And continuing the stare at the screen now, the image she has taken still in their view, Hotch waits patiently for her answer.

"No one will see it…"

There is nothing but gentleness in her reassurance for him, for herself. Emily will make sure of it. Leaning over slightly, erasing the tiny amount of distance between their heads, he nods. "You're so certain." It's a statement rather than the question he really means. She twists her attention a bit up and turns her head to face him.

"They won't…" She informs sweetly with a minute smile. "I promise." She finds that hand of the arm wrapped around her to move it back. And holding on his long and thick index finger, eyes continued to be on each other, Emily moves the limb back and draws the light crisscross over her heart.

"Cross my heart…" She licks her lips. "And hope to die... it'll be only for me… for _my _enjoyment…" Letting go of the finger, his arm falls and secures around her once more.

Those dimples of his emerge again before he presses his mouth to her nose and murmurs to her ear with his voice too low and deep and too much to her liking, "But what'll be _my _enjoyment then?"

Gaze on him filled with anticipation, a faint squeak comes from her before she responds with her voice matching his. "Do you have something in mind?"

Not one second passes before he gives the very first tender stroke of that small bundle of nerves through the lace with his middle finger. Immediately, her body tenses, the movement she does not expect. Yet all Hotch can do is laugh quietly.

Apparently he does.

Eye contact doesn't break as he begins a steady stroke, dragging up and down as she slowly starts to melt against him. Emily feels her toes turning tingly as memories flashed into her head of how he had done this on more than one occasion in these last almost nine months. And despite her efforts to suppress it, the whimper in her manages to come out centimeters from his lips.

"Shhh…"

The phone and ID tag she has yet to let go since she had gotten her shot finally is released from her grasps. She sighs twice in pleasure before recalling the quietness he had asked her to keep. Hotch increases that steady stroke, moisture he starts to feel seeping through that thin material protecting her. The image of her blush pink center and those aching folds behind the barrier come into his head. He's desperate to see her, but what he's doing to her is enticing him. One hand hold his touch in place as her other folds back to thread up his short hair. Her legs close in bit by bit, yearning to trap him right in place. Pushing back the short pants and attempting to breathe through her nostrils, Emily bites hard at her bottom lip as those indentations on her porcelain face surface with the extremely slow draw alongside those nerves.

She needs to make a sound.

"Shhh…"

It's written all over her face.

Hotch grins without shame, knowing the effects of his touch. "You're_ beautiful_…"

Emily wants to curse at him in the moment. And when her mouth opens, ready to hiss at him a colorful word or three, he catches those lips that taste of strawberry in his. Her toes curl without hesitation. She feels boneless and sinks even farther into him, into his touch, into his mouth. With tongues swept into a sweet tango, he pinches her lightly. She shudders whilst the deep moan from the back of her throat he swallows hungrily. Cupping her with the arm that has remained wrapped about her tightening; Hotch pushes and tugs her up slightly. Her hand that has been with his rises to move the touch from the side to fully cover her breast. He squeezes it firmly.

And distracted by the delicious mixing of their tastes, the wonderful feel of his hand on her breast; Emily fails to realize his touch making his way back up, with the faint nudges for her legs to fall wide open along the way. Little by little he slips his hand under that dark violet lace.

She's smooth.

Even after so many late nights and early mornings of his hand stroking her, his lips bestowing kisses her, the tip of his tongue dancing along her skin, she is still smooth like that first night in Atlantic City.

On a Sunday afternoon nearly eleven weeks after their first unforgettable experience of one another, Hotch had asked her over for a late lunch when Jack had been at a birthday party for a friend. But that meal he had cooked had gone by without a single bite of food because what they had wanted to take a bite of, what they had been craving for were each other. His couch had been the farthest they had managed to travel. And once the silver button of her dark washed jeans had been popped out of the designated hole and Emily had slide them along with the tiniest piece of black lace he had ever seen, those long legs he enjoyed tremendously wrapped around him had unfolded like wings for his viewing. For a while, kneeling on his sandy hue carpet, he had watched her tiny hands on either side of her slick pink heat, rubbing slowly and steadily to bring out those pants from her red lips.

Hotch hadn't been able to control the desire to put feather kisses on her skin. So starting from the inside of her left knee as she had stopped her touches to thread her hands through his hair, he left a trail all the way until half an inch from pink heat before he had moved upward. Nibbling on every millimeter of her tender flesh right above and around, inhaling the unique scent of hers, making her gasp for oxygen while her nimble fingers massages the top and back of his head, with his large hands gripping her slender hips, he had mused quietly.

"So… smooth…"

In between those gulps of air, the faint sounds of his mouth on her, and the blend of emotions he was stirring in her hot body, Emily had heard him as loud as a whistle.

"It's for better sex…" Those words had come out breathless.

One more hard gnaw; Hotch had pulled his head back ever so slightly to stare up at her with her eyes closed and head thrown back.

"What?"

The sweet groan of displeasure had been his response before she had looked down at him to meet his eyes. And when she had caught her even breaths, a saucy grin had been thrown his direction.

"Cosmo…" Emily had whispered seductively with a wink.

His forehead had furrowed for a moment, confused by her comments.

"That's why it's so… smooth… it's for better sex…"

He had laughed then, raising his eyebrows simultaneously, realizing how her words were finally connecting. The air from his mouth tickled her so softly and heated her body even more. She had done so too, her sugary titter echoing his sound before she had leaned down, hand sliding down to the nape of his neck and pushing him closer to put her lips against his ear.

"For me _and_ you…"

Slowly those thick and long fingers that she can't ever feel; ever have enough of brushes against her very wet and throbbing folds. An extreme surprise to her, Emily shrieks into his mouth seconds before her lips falls from his. Hotch chuckles, gaze opening only to watch hers eyes clench while he outlines her with the feather touch that makes her head spin.

He knows every direction to take; he knows every spot to hit to set her on fire.

And gradually shifting the few millimeters, the first finger dips centimeter by centimeter into her.

"_God_…"

The hand that has remained in his hair fists tightly, but he feels no pain. Hotch smiles faintly, staring at her face just those mere two inches away. Her long curled eyelashes are fanned out evenly. Pink swollen lips partially open, the rose shade begins to paint her porcelain cheeks. For a moment, he doesn't move that finger in her, relishing the silky surrounding the finger is in. Yet still, her walls are contracting, enjoying his touch, his invasion into a part of her no one else can do better than him.

Frozen for two entire minutes they remain until Hotch curls that finger in her. Emily reacts instantly, arching her back into the slightest bend.

"_Damn_."

He leans forward to nudge her gently. "Open your eyes…" It's a husky and deep demand that she obliges to without hesitation. He meets the narrow glazed look of her dark eyes with the tiniest spot from the sunlight.

"You don't play fair," she pouts to him softly with a shy grin.

He lets out an amused laugh, remembering what she had done so to him many minutes prior. Lowering his head just a touch more, lips just three centimeters from hers, a second long and thick finger buries into her smoothly. Her eyes widen and the sharp gasp releases.

"I learn from the best..."

Her chest is heaving rapidly as an out of breath chuckle flees out her mouth.

Hotch loves the feel of her accommodating she gets. No matter what time it is, no matter how many hours has passed in between the pleasure of one another, and no matter how many rounds they have, she always wraps perfectly around any part of him. Emily feels the blood rushing directly to her cheeks. The fire in the bottom of her stomach is expanding. Bit by bit, he pulls out those fingers that are being coated by her shine nearly halfway out only to push back in. Her strangling groan blares into his ears.

"Shhh…"

And when Hotch repeats that motion once and twice more with her lips biting down hard to her lips, Emily surprises him the third time and grinds against his body and hand. Those eyes leveled with him have nothing but passion in them. That only prompts him to continue as her hips start to rotate, the back of the dress shirt rubbing into his skin. His body is heating. He feels the effects, the throbs in each part of his naked body.

Her pants are a one of a kind melody. "Mmm… that feels… so… _good_… _faster_…"

She feels herself breaking down.

The pace quickens just like she wants. Against his body, her hips don't stop moving. "You… still have… time?" Her question comes out breathlessly.

She's desperate for more than just that magic touch of his now.

A minute sweet yet wicked smile she manages to give him for a flash of a second. He laughs alongside of her. Emily bites onto the corner of her mouth and brings her other arm back to grasp the pillow underneath his head.

She wants _him_.

Hotch makes no motion to look at the red glaring numbers on his nightstand though. He pins her down securely by the arm around her and the hand on her breast as those fingers in her coil like a screw quickly without warning. She lets out a high whimper. He groans at the beautiful noise. Their eyes are still together. Her walls are tightening.

"Yeah… I still-"

But Emily simply cuts him off, pushing his head down with whatever energy left to seize those thin lips fiercely and feverishly in hers; ready to spend the remaining minutes doing things with him she will never want to with anyone else.


End file.
